


newspaper clippings

by gael_itarille



Category: RWBY
Genre: During Canon, F/M, Injury, Post-Loss, Protective Qrow Branwen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-15
Updated: 2020-02-15
Packaged: 2021-02-19 12:40:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22710967
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gael_itarille/pseuds/gael_itarille
Summary: Their interactions are short; snippets of a story untold. He doesn't get her, but she's there, and he doesn't know what to do with that.
Relationships: Qrow Branwen/Winter Schnee
Comments: 8
Kudos: 30





	newspaper clippings

**Author's Note:**

> This is...a bit of a spur of the moment fic. I usually write to boost my creativity and energize myself, so I wrote a fic! I've been shipping Snowbird since I started watching RWBY, and I like them as a couple. As this was written on a whim; some scenes may not correlate with others; and this can be thought of as a bunch of super short drabbles that I've dreamed up.
> 
> Enjoy! xx

He supposed he should’ve expected it. Not to know her; to _see_ her. 

Crap.

It didn’t seem like she even knew herself.

God- if someone said “describe yourself”, she’d probably reply with: “I’m an Atlas Military Specialist.”

But that wasn’t all she really was, right? There was more to her, more to whatever facsimile that she wore day and night. There was some identity, buried under layers and layers of protection and walls and stubbornness. It would be nice to break through them; if he even knew where they were. 

Left in the dark.

Huh.

Qrow hated that.

-

She was pretty. But not beautiful. Kinda surface-pretty, where it’s just the face but not the soul. Shining white hair and glacier blue eyes; a slim figure and a certain grace.

Surface pretty.

She’s not Summer. Summer was lovely.

Summer was warm.

-

She holds herself in a way he can’t explain. Somewhat regal but closed off and scared but confident and conflicted and confused and yet somehow proud.

There’s a lot packed into that gaze; her stance. It’s too bad he can’t see whatever it was.

He thinks of Summer again. Her silver irises were crystal clear- heart on her sleeve.

He misses her.

He loves her, still. Not a day goes by where he doesn’t remember gleaming gray meeting watered-down crimson.

But then he hears Jimmy chuckle and pivots slightly. 

Winter's eyes glimmer a bit, and he realizes that they’re not glacial.

They’re a cold Atlantic.

Cold, yes.

But it’s warmer than the Arctic.

-

He talks to her, truly _talks_ to her, when he attends a ball.

He’s never been one for chatting and maintaining diplomacy or placating others or even exacerbating their alliances to the state. 

He just likes pissing people off.

The suit is too tight, too scratchy, and he itches to simply burst into flight- but Oz wouldn’t approve, so he sticks it out and grinds his heel into the smooth tile below.

She scolds him for making skid marks on the pristine marble flooring. It's not much of a conversation, but it's there.

He drags his shoe across the floor again so she'll return later. It's merely a minute before she comes over, though their banter lasts a little longer the second time around.

-

He sees her in action a month later.

She's elegant and strong and swift- capable of dual-wielding and summoning and whatever other fancy stuff she picked up from Atlas. Still, it's kinda entertaining; to see her waste her energy on the little things she views as strategy. So he, _ever so kind_ , chides her- corrects her form and shows her how to use her movement and her surroundings to win.

She takes it, and then she flips him over her damn shoulder when he asks to spar.

-

He's polishing Harbinger and daydreaming of windswept rose petals when she floats into a chair across him.

His thoughts- of short black dresses and long white capes; a lively red and jubilant smile- are interrupted, and for a second Schnee's presence seems so much like Summer's that he sees a red scythe on the table instead of a shining sabre.

Qrow ignores the prickle in his chest when he spots white through his lidded gaze. 

Winter -more perceptive than he gave her credit for- pushes a red vial of dust towards him; saying something about "repaying last month's favour", and he knows he should appreciate it. 

He doesn't. The colour's a little too fresh; too shocking, and Qrow instantly scoots his chair back with a screech- scrambling out of his seat and towards the door.

His recoil catches her attention, and while it's good, he supposes, that she seems more confused than hurt, guilt tugs at his ear until he's sitting back down again and oddly stating an apology.

Schnee simply nods, expression undecipherable, and he wonders what she's looking for when she meets his stare more than once. 

-

The next time they meet, she's standing on the bow of the airship, looking down over the sky below. She seems like she's ready to throw herself off- not for the purpose of dying, per se, but just to see if she could walk on clouds and how the rushing wind would feel. Qrow used to want that too.

Naivety is bliss.

-

"Hi," he coughs.

"Hi."

She pauses. 

"What brings you to Atlas?"

"Missions."

She hums in understanding. And that's it- only silence and the sunset and two silhouetted shadows. 

"You're not good at making conversation, are ya, Schnee?"

Maybe its the sombre tone that flanks her voice, or the weight that seems to push her posture down.

"I'm good at killing Grimm. That's all that matters."

It's a pessimistic opinion, sure, and Qrow is taken aback. His lips are still, and remain that way for a second or so.

"You're young. You should have hobbies and stupid ideals. Make conversation about that."

She shakes her head.

"Conversation needs a purpose. A motive; of sorts."

He scoffs, "So ya don't like talking about yourself? That seems like an awfully good motive to me."

She looks to the side, lashes fluttering. There's a tension that she carries, and he predicts she'll reply with another wistful retort when she blurts her next line out. 

"I could make a conversation about that stain on your cape," she suggests, a half-smile holding her face coy. 

He lets out a chuckle.

"Go for it."

And so she does.

And she's not bad. 

The girl could talk money out of a trash can.

He tries not to ponder where she learned that from.

-

He watches as she bites back a swear; scowling as she inspects the stain that runs down the side of her dress. The blue fabric is thoroughly ruined now- a dark splotch in what once was pristine fabric, and Qrow lets out a bark of laughter.

That dress looked too damn old. Plus, it's expensive, and he wouldn't go for that anyway. 

He hands her a napkin out of pity -an emotion she throws right back in his face with a glare- and waits as she retreats from the ballroom to change. She excuses herself, and Qrow supposes it's time for a bit of reflection while she's gone. 

But he doesn't reflect; he picks up a shot of whiskey and downs it in one go.

Nevermind the fact that he feels oddly compelled to put his glass of bourbon down when she comes back in a fiery red gown and tries to hide her look of melancholy when she spots the alcohol. 

-

Tai once said that Qrow had a tender heart; but at least his body held up against the hordes of Grimm he had been trained to eradicate. 

Evidently, hers did not. 

He had no bloody idea why she was working on a sprained ankle (without a cast, mind you); tending to all the others that had completed a recent mission before treating the impediment that she was desperately trying to mask. 

She follows Jimmy around the complex, marching and running and Ironwood doesn't even notice the grimace she now sports so frequently. He catches her hopping towards a water fountain; one leg raised slightly, and arches an eyebrow.

When he sees her all but hopscotching to her quarters, he sits her down and tells her some philosophical drivel about "how you can't take care of others if you can't take care of yourself."

Qrow's never done that.

Winter (reluctantly) asks for a period of leave from her superior and Qrow wraps her ankle with practiced ease the following night. 

He tells himself that he does it because her bouncing across the halls got annoying.

Not because he's trying to fill the void that Summer left.

Not because he cares. 

It would be unfortunate if he did. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Please, tell me what you thought in the comments!
> 
> (P.S. If anyone has any ideas for another chapter, feel free to drop them in the comments!)


End file.
